


Mending Time

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: Albert Campion - Margery Allingham
Genre: First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: While serving his latest sentence in Parkhurst, Magersfontein Lugg hadn't expected his life to take a new direction. Then, a visit from a mysterious young man changed everything....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After recently falling in love with both the Campion TV series and the books, I've often wondered how (and why) Lugg started working for Campion. There were some references to Campion knowing him when Lugg was an "early ticket man" which meant that, somehow, Lugg was able to get an early parole around the time he started working for Campion. An interesting feat given how he was supposedly a career criminal....
> 
> Thus, I started spinning my own head canon as to how they might have met and why they entered into their unlikely partnership...and this fic was born. I hope any readers will enjoy it. :)

Magersfontein Lugg was tired.

Of course, that was to be expected when stuck in a place like Parkhurst. People made lofty speeches about how prisons were supposed to “reform and rehabilitate” people, but Lugg had been in enough of them to know prisons for what they really were. They were places to help the “good people” feel better about themselves by keeping criminals away from them.

Conversely, prisons were places where the “bad people” have their defects of character slowly worn away through hard labor and even harder living conditions. He’d only been here a few days, but Lugg could already feel the grind settling into him again.

Lugg rubbed a large, meaty hand over his face and sighed. He had endured this sort of existence before. He could do it again for another three years.

 Three years. Lugg knew that he had gotten off easy even though “easy” was never a word used to describe Parkhurst. The nob he had tried to steal from was known to have a vindictive streak. It was part of the reason why Lugg had taken a perverse pleasure in targeting him. Someone like that, someone who only bullied the most pitiful members of society because he knew he could get away with it, deserved to be taken down a peg. Preferably two.

Unfortunately, luck had not been with Lugg that night. The baron had come home early, and the accomplice Lugg had recruited had lost his nerve. On top of that two busies had decided to linger in that part of the city longer than they normally did.

However, Lugg knew that there had still been a chance to get away, but what sealed his fate was an unfortunate incident involving one of the busies. An incident that created a crisis of conscience.

That and the fact that he was not in the shape he was even five years ago.

Lugg lowered his head and heaved another sigh. He was getting old. Not so old that he needed to be looked after, but old in the standards of his profession. The only reasons he had been able to carry on as long as he had were his natural talent and the wisdom of years of experience. But even those could not completely overcome a growing midsection and joints that just weren’t as flexible as they once were.

This meant that many of the jobs he used to do would soon be out of reach and he would have to find other ways to make a living. It wasn’t a prospect that he relished as there simply weren’t many opportunities for a middle-aged lag who was looking for a change of pace. At least, not many that had even the slightest appeal to him.

A rap on the cell door broke Lugg’s reverie.

“Come on, get moving,” the guard said as the door was opened. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Lugg glared at him, making sure the guard couldn’t see the astonishment and confusion in his dark eyes. A visitor? Who would visit him here? True, he was far from friendless, but his friends stayed far away from places like this. It was an unspoken understanding in the circles he traveled in.

So who would come to Parkhurst just to see him?

Lugg silently followed orders: standing still while handcuffs were placed on his wrists and trudging along to a visitor’s room. Once there, he plopped down onto a chair and was greeted by a sight that started him so much, he couldn’t completely hide his surprise.

Sitting across the table from him was a pale young man who looked to be in his early twenties. The man was blond with a lanky figure and large spectacles that gave him owl eyes. He was dressed in a fine, tailored suit which gave a hint of the well-to-do background he probably had.

He also had the cheeriest, most inane smile that Parkhurst would probably ever see.

“Hullo!” the young man said. “The guards told me that your name is Magersfontein Lugg.”

Lugg narrowed his coal-black eyes at him. “That’s right. ‘Ooo are you?”

“Albert Campion,” the young man said, grinning even more. “Magersfontein? Is that like that unfortunate incident during the Boer War?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Lugg said, scowling. He leaned back in his chair.

“You know, we have met before,” Campion added. “We just didn’t have a chance to exchange names.”

“Yeah, I remember you,” Lugg said. “You was wit’ those other rozzers. But yer no rozzer. What are you, a ‘tec?”

“A ‘tec?” Campion repeated. “Ah you mean a detective. And rozzers are policemen, I take it?”

“Very clever, you figgered that out all on yer own,” Lugg said with another scowl.

Still, he wasn’t as harsh as he could have been. Campion was right about them meeting before and on that night, the young man had showed some unexpected courage which Lugg had a grudging respect for.

“I’m afraid I can’t help myself,” Campion replied, clearly not offended in the slightest by Lugg’s belligerence. “Clever is my stock in trade. Or I should say, it will be if I decide to make a serious go of it.”

“Don’ let me keep you,” Lugg replied. This Campion bloke made little sense to him and he still could not fathom what this was about.

“Don’t worry, I made sure to clear my social calendar,” Campion said. “Today was going to be a party to celebrate some new play. I don’t know which play, but I’m sure it would have been filled with bright young things and some not so young things who take the stage with them wherever they go. But that’s right out now. You see, there was a question I wanted to ask you.”

“It’s yer time,” Lugg shrugged.

“Why did you decide to save that rozzer…policeman…from falling off the roof?” Campion inquired. “I’m sure you know that, if you hadn’t had done that, you would have gotten away and wouldn’t be here. And from what I hear, the police have never been a friend to you. So why did you do it?”

“Is that all?” Lugg said. Irritation swiftly rose up over having this odd fool bother him over a question like that.

“You was there,” he continued. “You ‘elped me drag ‘im up. Why did you do it? ‘E could ‘ave dragged you orf wit’ ‘im.”

“I suppose I hadn’t really thought about that,” Campion replied. “I guess I did it because one should help their local constabulary whenever possible. It’s good for keeping the peace.”

“There,” Lugg said, gesturing with his hands. At least as much as he could with the handcuffs on. “Put me down for that reason. Is that all?”

“In theory, it might be,” Campion said. He scratched his cheek and then leaned toward Lugg. “That is, it would be if I believed you.”

“Believe what you like,” Lugg sighed. “It makes no odds to me.”

Truthfully, Lugg was surprised that Campion had noticed that he was lying. And that he cared about it. Nobs usually didn’t care when people like him choose to be less than communicative. Saved them the trouble of dealing with the “low sort of people” any more than they had to.

“I had a friend like you in school who never wanted to give a straightforward answer to anything,” Campion continued. “Whippet was his name. And there was never any use in asking him questions unless you were willing to put up with a lot of frustration. I wonder what Whippet is up to now. He’d be ideal for government work.”

Campion chatted away and Lugg remained silent and impassive while still struggling to understand what Campion wanted from him.

A few minutes later, a guard came over and waved a hand, indicating that visiting time was over. Lugg was ordered to stand and Campion leapt to his feet at the same time.

“It was very interesting talking to you, Mr. Lugg,” he said. “Until next time then.”

Lugg didn’t respond. Instead, he concentrated on keeping quiet while he was shoved back toward his cell. The visit had been a strange experience, but it was over now. Despite what Campion had said, Lugg was certain that this was the end of it.

* * *

 

That is, until next week on Thursday when Campion showed up.

“Hello again, Mr. Lugg. Remember me?”

“No,” Lugg said as he sat down. He tried glaring on top of being contrary, but neither seemed to have any effect on Campion’s demeanor.

“Albert Campion,” Campion said once more. “But I am sure you remember that. Still, practicing introductions is always a good thing to do. You need them so dreadfully often.”

“Are you always on like this?’ Lugg asked, exasperated.

“Sadly, yes,” Campion sighed with what actually sounded like a tinge of real regret in his tone. “I’m afraid I can’t help myself. At some point, probably when I was very young, I decided that I would have to talk like this because, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t bother with talking at all most of the time.”

“Yeah, wot a great loss that would ‘ave been,” Lugg mumbled.

Campion smirked at him. “Well, one of us has to be the conversationalist in this arrangement, and it doesn’t seem to strike your fancy.”

Lugg was tempted to ask him what exactly this “arrangement” was supposed to be, but immediately rejected the question, deciding that it would only encourage even more nonsense.

“By the way, I forget to thank you,” Campion said.

Lugg blinked in surprise. “For wot?”

“For saving my life,” Campion said. “You were right. That policeman did almost drag me off the roof with him. A man like that really has no business jumping around on roofs anyway.” He leaned forward. “If you hadn’t grabbed my braces when you did, I’m certain that I would have tumbled right off when my foot slipped. So once again, thank you.”

“Yer welcome,” Lugg replied, unable to stop himself. He didn’t think Campion had noticed that. Or that he would acknowledge it.

“That’s two lives you saved, Mr. Lugg,” Campion said, settling back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other. “A thief and an honorable man.”

Lugg studied him closely. It didn’t seem like Campion was joking with him, but it was also unlikely that anyone, especially a gentleman, would ever refer to him as honorable.

“Why was you there anyway?” Lugg asked. “You friends wit’ ‘is Lordship or somethin’?”

“Oh good heavens no,” Campion replied. “Mind you, our paths have crossed now and again. Shared acquaintances and all. But I’ve always found him severely lacking in the Pleasant Company Department.”

“Yeah,” Lugg said. “Not at all like wot you can find ‘ere at Parkhurst.”

“I can reliably assure you that you are far better at the art of conversation and keeping good company than the baron ever was,” Campion said. “He’s only entertaining if your tastes lean toward wallowing in the pettiest aspects of human nature.”

Lugg let out a snort, the closest thing to a laugh he had had in a while. “Sounds about right. Typical of you nobs.”

“Nobs?” Campion echoed. “Ah…and what makes you think I’m in the same social standing as the baron?”

“Gawd come orf it,” Lugg snapped. “Anyone wit’ eyes in their ‘ead can see it wit’ yer talk and yer dress and yer fancy ways. Yer of the same sort ‘is Lordship is. Prolly grew up in some country manor and went to private school. Privileged. It’s written all over you.”

Campion let his leg fall off to the side, and Lugg was surprised to see the smile on Campion’s face falter. He didn’t know why, but, for some reason, Lugg felt a twinge of guilt over it.

“Look ‘ere, I ain’t sayin’ yer a rotten one like ‘im,” he added. “I saw you stick out yer neck for that rozzer which is far more than most of ‘is lot would do. But yer no commoner any more than I’m a gent. That’s ‘ow it is, that’s all.”

The smile widened again and Lugg found himself strangely relieved. After another moment, Campion shifted in his chair again.

“I never did answer your question about why I was there, did I?” Campion said. “Well, I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t entirely accurate with you the last time we talked. I’m not with the police in any official capacity, but our interests usually run along the same lines.”

“Yer ‘elping ‘em catch burglars?”

“Not exactly. I was actually on the lookout for a forger. A very dangerous man named Adrian Edwards.”

“Edwards? ‘E’s up at it again is ‘e?” Lugg nodded.

“You know him?” Campion said, his head cocking to the side.

“Don’ reely know ‘im. Jus’ know of ‘im. Did a nasty bit o’ business in Norfold a few years ago. Loves playing wit’ knives.”

“Yes,” Campion said. “He killed a secretary while breaking into one of the small solicitor firms here in town. And there are people who are…concerned about what might happen to some rather important papers that went missing.”

“Can’t blame ‘em for worryin’,” Lugg nodded again. “Edwards, ‘e’s as good as ‘e is vicious. Look ‘ere, yer sayin’ that yer a private ‘tec?”

“That does sound like a very romantic idea, doesn’t it?” Campion smiled. “I keep tossing the idea around. Although I prefer Professional Adventurer, myself. But no, this is just a favor for an old friend of mine who is in a bit of a spot.”

Lugg leaned back in his chair again. He could understand helping out a friend even if it meant getting a bit dirty to do it. Suddenly, another idea came to him, causing Lugg’s hackles to instantly rise.

“If yer thinkin’ I’m goin’ give you a line on ‘im, you can just march right on out of ‘ere,” he growled. “I ain’t a nark.”

Campion blinked hard and then held up his hands. “Oh no, nothing like that. I give you my word that I’m not here to get any sort of inside information out of you.”

“Then what are you ‘ere for?” Lugg demanded.

“Just what I said,” Campion answered with another smile. “I wanted to ask you why you saved that policeman’s life.”

“Which I answered….”

“Which you gave an answer to,” Campion interrupted. “It’s not quite the same thing, is it? Besides, believe it or not, I enjoy talking to you. I’m not sure if I can explain why. I suppose it’s one of those things that can’t truly be explained with words. The closest I can say is that, it feels as if I don’t have to work so hard to really say something when I’m talking to you.”

Lugg peered at him for a long moment. Years of living in a world where deception was common and expected had given him some insight to when someone was trying to run a fraud on him. This didn’t feel like that. In fact, it almost felt like the opposite. As if Campion was actually letting go of the fraud for a change.

“Times up,” the guard off to the side said. Campion nodded and got to his feet at the same time Lugg did.

Lugg stated to head back toward the corridor leading to his cells. Then he paused and shuffled back to Campion.

“Listen up, if you do find Edwards, don’ let ‘im get close to you. You understand? If ‘e starts twitchin’ ‘is fingers in ‘is left ‘and and says ‘e’s goin’ to give you somethin’ for free, you jus’ stay well back. That means ‘e’s gettin’ ready to stick you. Got that?”

“I understand,” Campion nodded, his tone serious for a change. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep you updated.”

Lugg watched Campion stroll out of the room until a prod of a club reminded him of his own destination. He gave the guard a baleful glare as he allowed himself to be herded to his cell.

This time, his mind wasn’t so ready to let go of thoughts of the extraordinary young man who had just left. Campion appeared to be serious about stopping Edwards, a man Lugg would be reluctant to deal with unless he had to. Why was someone like Campion, who probably came from money and a titled family and who could be attending theater engagements or poker games at overpriced clubs, trying to handle a rotten, dangerous person like that? Campion had said that it was a favor for a friend, but Lugg sensed it was something beyond that.

Almost as if Campion was also doing this for his own satisfaction.

The clank of his cell door closing made Lugg scowl even more. For the first time since he had started his latest prison term, he felt a stronger urge than usual to get out of Parkhurst.

If only so he could track Campion down and knock some sense into him.

* * *

 

A week later, Lugg found out that he need not have spent days worrying about it.

“Hullo! I need to thank you again for that advice,” Campion said as they sat down. “I finally caught up with Edwards, and he did exactly what you said he would do. Right down to the twitching fingers and everything. It was like something from a mystery play. How will Our Hero survive this Fateful Encounter with the Dastardly Villain? Fortunately, I was ready for him. When I was going into the alley where he was, I happen to find a piece of scrap metal that fit nicely under my coat. And I’m sure the policemen who arrested him were very pleased to be able to deal with a criminal without two fully functioning hands….”

As Campion cheerfully gave his report about how he had caught Edwards and recovered the missing papers, Lugg could only stare at him and wonder one thing.

How had he gotten tangled up with a lunatic?


	2. Chapter 2

The next month continued on the same way. Every Thursday, Campion would come and visit Lugg and tell him about his latest exploits or simply chat about anything that came into his head from a play he had seen to the merits of keeping birds as pets as opposed to dogs.

At first, Lugg mostly remained silent during these visits. He was still unsure of what Campion’s motives were and later he simply wasn’t confident that he could come up with anything to add to the conversations.

That is, until he realized that being sarky wasn’t as unwelcome as he thought it would be.

“…Oh course, by that point, I realized I had to leave that party. I simply couldn’t get away from that man and he wouldn’t stop blathering about one nonsense topic after another.”

Lugg gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, I’ve known people like that.”

Campion immediately caught onto his meaning. “And I’ve spent time with stone gargoyles who were more sociable than you. Tell me, did they kick you out of one of their colonies?”

“As if you could ever stand hangin’ ‘round a ruddy statue,” Lugg snorted. “Then ‘oo would you show orf to or ‘ave laugh at yer sarcasms?”

Campion scowled at him. “You have a beastly sense of humor. Do you know that?”

The words almost sounded like they were meant to sting, but Lugg had already learned to spot the mischievous glint in Campion’s eyes that showed up when he was merely being playful. It was different than his usual vague, congenial demeanor and wasn’t always easy to spot behind his glasses.

Then again, Lugg had always been more observant of people than he was given credit for. Something that had served him well over the years.

Then, suddenly, the glint was gone, and Campion leaned toward him.

“Why did you save that policeman’s life?” he asked again. “Take a stab at the truth this time. You might enjoy it.”

Still in a jocular mood, Lugg decided to take the lead from the young man across from him with his answer.

“There might ‘ave bin some young ladies walkin’ ‘round there. Little kiddies too. That would ‘ave bin a terrible sight for them, a man meetin’ ‘is end like that. Shakes you to the core.”

Campion leaned back in his chair with a wide, knowing smile on his face. “Very amusing. I mean it. It was a valiant attempt. I almost could believe that explanation.”

“Why do you want to know any’ow?” Lugg said, his tone a little colder now. “Wot difference does it make? ‘E’s alive, ain’t ‘e?”

“In a way, I suppose you’re right,” Campion conceded. “A man’s life was saved. The reasons why that happened shouldn’t be as important as the result. Nevertheless, while it might not matter in the grand scheme of things, it does matter to me. I have my reasons for that.”

Lugg frowned. Over these last few weeks, he had gotten to know Campion well enough to know when he was being sincere, but that knowledge did not make him any less suspicious as to why Campion was so persistent on this point.

For a moment, Lugg was tempted to act on his suspicions. To tell Campion to mind his own business and maybe even suggest that he stop coming here to pester him. However, at that moment, the guard came over to remind them that visiting time was over, and Lugg found himself strangely relieved that he missed his chance.

* * *

 

One month later, Lugg lumbered in for his usual Thursday visit and was given his next major surprise when he saw two teacups sitting on the table between himself and Campion, one in front of each of them.

He was even more surprised though when the guard reached down to remove his handcuffs.

“I spoke to the warden and was finally able to help him understand that it’s impractical to share tea with someone when they are limited in the use of their hands,” Campion said, lifting his own cup to take a sip.

Lugg rubbed his wrists for a moment to give himself time to find his voice again.

“What’s this?” he said, pointing at the cup in front of him.

“I already told you,” Campion said lightly. “Tea. Earl Grey to be exact. I’m not sure why, but I have you pegged as an Earl Grey man.”

Lugg’s face twisted with exasperation. “Not that. Why is there a perishing cup ‘o tea ‘ere in the first place?”

“I thought you would enjoy it,” Campion replied as if he had been asked why he breathed in and out. “Tea adds coziness to a conversation between friends. At least, that’s what the advertisements say. Don’t you agree?”

Lugg didn’t reply. It didn’t escape his notice that Campion had used the word ‘friend’ to describe him and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Still, he did regard Campion warmly enough to not want to be unnecessarily rude to him.

Lugg picked up his cup and took a small sip from it, making sure to not wince from the taste. Then he took another before sitting it down and pushing it a little to the side.

“I’m sorry, is it not quite the right temperature?” Campion said. “Or perhaps it’s the lack of something. Milk, sugar or lemon maybe? I would have arranged for a full setting if I could, but you wouldn’t believe how dreadfully difficult it was just to get the cup in here.”

“It’s not that,” Lugg replied. “Jus’ never bin one much for tea. I can drink it, but it’s not my choice.”

“I see,” Campion nodded. “So what do you prefer? Coffee, perhaps? I’m afraid spirits of any sort are out of the question.”

Lugg colored slightly. There was something he truly enjoyed when he could get his hands on it, but it felt almost childish to ask for under the circumstances.

He glanced back over at his cup. He wasn’t really that fond of tea, but it was a comforting reminder of life outside of Parkhurst. Lugg started to reach for it again, but before his hand could even touch it, the guard, a man named Cuttlebert, snatched it up.

“He wasn’t drinking it,” Cuttlebert snorted in response to the disapproving glare from Campion. “And he shouldn’t be having it anyway. I know you’re all pally with the warden, but I don’t see why you should get special privileges. ‘Specially since I’ve heard ‘Campion’ isn’t even your real name and you’re….”

“That’s enough,” Campion said, his voice colder and full of an authority Lugg had never heard from him before. It was enough to make both he and Cuttlebert flinch.

“I shall be having a conversation with your superior,” Campion continued. “I’m sure he will have a few words for you about gossiping and loose talk. For now….” He finished what was in his cup and set it aside. “…you may take these away and send in your fellow guard in here to mind the store.”

Cuttlebert picked up the other cup and hastily exited the room. A moment later, another guard came in and took up his post a discrete distance away.

Throughout all of this, Lugg watched with barely hidden astonishment. Once Campion got a glimpse of the dumbfounded expression on his face, he let out a long sigh and slumped in his chair.

“Rather than confuse things further, I should try to make this plain to you,” he said, his voice strangely lethargic. “The guard was not wrong. My name…at least the one my parents gave me at birth…is Rudolph K—well, it only really matters if you have a vested interest in the aristocracy. I don’t have much use for it myself which is why I chose ‘Albert Campion’ some time ago.”

Campion shifted in his chair, his eyes unreadable behind his spectacles. “I am sorry if it seemed as if I had deceived you. It truly was not my intention. And I would prefer to remain ‘Albert Campion’ if at all possible…although I understand how that might be disconcerting to you, and….”

“It makes no odds to me,” Lugg said with a shrug. “You say ‘Albert Campion’, fine. ‘Albert Campion’ it is then.”

For once, it was Campion’s turn to be surprised. “It doesn’t bother you? I can assure you, I had not meant to lie, but….”

“Look ‘ere,” Lugg interrupted. “The way I see it, if you decide to chuck yer name and yer title to be ‘Albert Campion’…well, you got yer reasons for that. Maybe I don’ see them, but they’re yer reasons and they mean somethin’ to you. I’m not goin’ to argue that. To me, yer ‘Albert Campion’ and that’s that.”

Campion’s mouth fell open slightly, and Lugg noted the look of shock in those owlish eyes. Seconds later, shock turned into a smile with more sincerity and actual joy in it than Lugg had ever seen from him.

It only took another moment, however, before Campion regained his usual vague affability.

“I am sorry about the Earl Grey. I really must learn to read people better in regards to food and drink. Alas, there is only so much you can get from etiquette books. Until then, won’t you tell me what I should bring instead?”

“I’m not stayin’ at the Savoy, ‘ere,” Lugg sighed. “Don’ worry yerself about it. Getting those bracelets orf is enough for me.”

Lugg figured that that would be the end of it and his theory was confirmed the next week when there was no teacup with Campion’s usual visit.

It wasn’t until the next week after that, that Lugg realized that Campion had not let the idea go after all. Once again, there were two cups on the table. The one nearer to Campion definitely held tea, but Lugg didn’t think that was what was in the other one.

After he sat down and had his handcuffs removed, he caught a whiff from the cup and was finally able to identify it. He blinked hard in surprise and lifted the cup to his lips.

Then Lugg was treated to the richest, creamiest cocoa he had ever tasted. He had always enjoyed humbler versions of it whenever he could scrape up enough to afford a little luxury, but he could already tell that this was at least a couple steps above what he had savored in the past.

Once he got a taste, Lugg couldn’t hide his pleasure, eagerly gulping down almost a third of it in one vigorous swallow. Its warmth and richness spread though his entire body. It was easily the best thing he had tasted in months.

There was a hint of a smile on his face when he looked up to see Campion watching him with a smile of his own. Lugg immediately let his face fall back into its usual lugubrious expression.

“It’s all right,” he said, making sure to take smaller sips from that point on. A part of him felt guilty that he wasn’t thanking Campion directly, but the flicker of satisfaction in those pale eyes told Lugg that it wasn’t really needed.

“I’m glad you approve,” Campion nodded. “The man at the store had made some suggestions and he did seem to know his business very well. I’ll be sure to congratulate him on his perceptiveness the next time I see him.”

No more was said on the subject after that. Campion’s cup of Darjeeling and Lugg’s cup of cocoa simply became another part of their routine.

* * *

 

Two months later, Lugg was treated to yet another surprise. But this one was far colder than the previous ones had been.

He had just finished his cocoa when he noticed that Campion had left his tea half-finished. A sense of dread started to rise up within him when he also observed the slight lessening of enthusiasm in Campion’s usual tirades of inanity.

Then the bottom fell out.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make our usual visits for a while,” Campion said. “I have a friend in a European country that is best left nameless who is afraid that there are those who have some nasty ideas in mind for him. There aren’t many people he can turn to, so I offered my assistance.”

Lugg frowned, but gave no other reaction. So here it was. Once in a while, he had considered that this day would come eventually, but as the weeks and then months dragged on, it had become more and more remote to him. Now, however, Lugg realized that he would have to face what had surely been inevitable all along.

He would have to face the fact that Campion had finally tired of this hobby of his and was ready to move on.

“I wish I could tell you more about it,” Campion continued. “But I’m not entirely sure how this will work out. It’s probably better that as few people as possible know. Anyway, I did think it was best that you know this much so you wouldn’t have to wonder about where I had dashed off to. I hope to only be gone for a couple of weeks, but I can’t say for certain. I’ll be sure to tell you all about the popular tourist destinations I’ll be passing by.”

“Do I look like a perishing travel guide to you?” Lugg snapped, his older, much more churlish tone rising. “Wot do I care about some blinking castles and the like?”

Campion blinked in surprise at the harshness of Lugg’s tone, but his usual cheer did not waver. He looked like he was about to say something else, but a gesture from the guard indicated that time was short which put a halt to whatever it was.

Campion stood up and then, clearly on an impulse, reached over to give one of Lugg’s hands a quick, but firm shake. The guard took a warning step closer, but the gesture was so brief, nothing came of it.

“Give my regards to Queen and country until I return,” Campion said as he was ushered to the door.

Then the guard motioned for Lugg to stand and present his wrists to be cuffed which Lugg did wordlessly. The silence continued as Lugg made his way back to his cell and was placed inside. Once he was there, he sat down heavily onto the battered, threadbare contraption the prison staff claimed was his bed.

Despite the certainty he had that he wouldn’t be seeing Campion again, a sliver of doubt picked away at him. Campion was a nob, sure, but he wasn’t like the rest of them. He couldn’t be. Why else would he carry on visiting some random burglar he had a chance meeting with for months? On top of that, Lugg figured that Campion must have held some warm feelings toward him to arrange it so he could drink hot chocolate and have his handcuffs removed while visiting. That had to have taking considerable effort to arrange on Campion’s part.

None of this seemed like the actions of a bored aristocrat who was just having a laugh. In fact, they had felt like the actions of a friend.

_‘Right ‘cause ‘e’s such an odd one, ‘e ‘as to go to Parkhurst to find a mate rather than goin’ wit’ all those other nobs and artsy types who go for odd.’_

Lugg frowned, his hands clenching the edge of his bed. He’d become soft. Campion’s visits had made him soft, lured him into an easy compliancy he could ill-afford here. There was no room for soft in Parkhurst. No place for hopes crafted from fanciful ideas about friendship and understanding between two people who never had any business associating with each other.

But it was over now. Now, there was just that nagging doubt that he would have to extinguish. Lugg wasn’t too concerned about that though.  Any sparks that he couldn’t put out himself with his own resignation, time would take care of.

After all, time was one of the only things Lugg had left. Even if he could never call a single moment of it his own any more.


	3. Chapter 3

After the first week went by without the usual Thursday visit, Lugg found that the flicker of doubt he had had was already starting to wane.

The other inmates, both friends and casual acquaintances, did rib him some about how his weekly visits with “his little Lordship” had stopped, but Lugg never had a problem with putting a stop to any amusement that was being taken at his expense. After only a couple of days, the jokes died down and not one word was spoken about Campion around Lugg.

Unfortunately, Lugg found it harder than they did to put that strange, but affable young man out of his mind. He had met all sorts of people over the years due to his profession, but none of them were quite like Campion. And not just because of his eccentricities or privileged background either. There was something compassionate and wise hidden behind his youth and purposeful inanity. Lugg was certain that most people missed it. Campion’s façade was quite convincing after all.

The fact was, Lugg had been drawn to Campion. In his rare reflective moments, he even imagined that the two of them might share some small spark of a kindred spirit.

It was disheartening to think that he could have been so wrong.

* * *

 

Another week dragged by with no visit and no word about Campion. By this point, Lugg started to convince himself that he had been a sucker. Even worse, it hadn’t been some clever con artist who had played him.

He had conned himself. Plain and simple.

Of course, it wasn’t too hard for Lugg to rationalize why he had allowed himself to be fooled. Part of it was because of the visits themselves. There was nothing pleasant about being in Parkhurst. Basic necessities like food or shelter were as shoddy and inadequate as possible while still giving the inmates a chance to survive even if they wouldn’t really be living. There was also the repetitive, brutal labor and the casual abuse from the guards or some of the other inmates if one wasn’t careful.

Campion’s visits with their silly conversations, relaxed friendliness, and overall cheer were a respite from that bleak existence. They gave Lugg something to look forward to, something else to think about whenever the realities of Parkhurst began to chip away at his spirit.

It wasn’t until they were gone that Lugg finally understood why he should not have allowed himself to become acclimated to them. He had been a fool.

Although, he wasn’t sure if he would have done anything different even if he had known what was coming.

* * *

 

A third week passed by with no word. By this point, Lugg had stopped thinking in terms of when he might see Campion again or even if he would. Campion had been a brief, odd interlude in his past which he was determined to not spend any more time dwelling on. He needed to keep his wits and endurance about him if he was going to survive Parkhurst with his dignity intact.

As a result, Lugg allowed his mind and outward demeanor to dull again. He still made sure to keep his standing among the other inmates, but he also stopped paying attention to the passing of time. Days and nights became a blur, shielding him from the grinding routine that was attempting to crush him. For Lugg, there was only a moment by moment existence now.

The only remnant of feeling that stubbornly refused to fade was a worry that the end of Campion’s visits had not entirely been by choice. Lugg knew that Campion liked to get involved with dangerous activities. He had seen that for himself on the very first day they met. What if the young man had done something foolish…or rather, more foolish than usual…and had gotten himself seriously hurt? Or worse.

Whenever his thoughts moved in that direction, Lugg felt an ache inside him. Even if Campion had become bored and had moved on, the fact remained that he had been kind and was also an exceptional young man. One who the world would be poorer without even if it didn’t realize it. Thus, the thought of anything bad happening to Campion was still something that could fill Lugg with dread.

However, Lugg was still pragmatic enough to know that there was nothing he could do while he was imprisoned here. Even getting any information about what could have happened to Campion would be no easy feat. So Lugg made sure to keep his ears open and did his best to push these worries to the very back of his mind. He was determined to not let himself get emotionally invested in Campion’s fate, no matter how it unfolded.

Most of the time, Lugg succeeded at this. He also did his best to not think too much about the nights when he didn’t.

* * *

 

Lugg had worked so hard at banishing any thought of Campion from his mind that, one month after his last visit, he didn’t think anything of it when the guard ordered him from his cell at the usual Thursday time. It wasn’t until he realized he was walking toward the visitor’s room that something stirred inside him. Something lighter than he had felt in weeks.

That happy feeling was completed when he walked in, had his handcuffs removed and took in the sight of Campion sitting in his usual chair. Campion beamed up at him, the usual two tea cups sitting on the table.

“Hello Lugg,” Campion said with a touch more seriousness than usual. “It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to bring you a sandwich this time. Jackdaw snatched it as I was getting ready. You know, they are quite tricky birds. They could even teach an expert like you a thing or two.”

Lugg was sure that his shock was obvious on his face, but at that moment he couldn’t care about that. He was completely dumbfounded over seeing Campion again.

However, that shock soon gave way to concern as he got a closer look at the young man sitting across from him. There was a stark, purple bruise near one cheekbone and an ugly cut barely concealed by a sloppy bandage over the other one. A thick, angry line of red was on Campion’s lower lip with another weal near his jaw line. The stiff way Campion was holding himself in the chair told Lugg that there were probably other injuries he couldn’t see.

“Lumme!” he gasped. “Wot ‘appened to you?”

“Oh, just an unfriendly disagreement between adversaries,” Campion said. He tried waving a hand casually, but ended up hissing in pain. “Thankfully, I got off far better than they did.”

Lugg started to sink down onto his chair when a thin red line on Campion’s face caught his attention.

“Blimey…yer bleedin….”

Campion blinked, his expression one of mild confusion. He put a finger to his face and seemed surprised when he found a splotch of blood after drawing it away.

Meanwhile, Lugg’s worry had grown intolerable and it overcame his awareness of where he was. He got out his chair and marched purposely toward Campion so he could get a closer look at the wound.

The response to this act was instantaneous. The guard, Cuttlebert again, bolted forward and landed a sharp blow to Lugg’s outstretched arm before Lugg had a chance to touch Campion. He let out a grunt of pain while Campion popped out of his chair, his own aches and pains seemingly forgotten.

“There was no cause for that,” Campion said, the cold, commanding tone back in his voice. The guard withered under Campion’s stony gaze, but remained defiant.

“He was trying to get at you,” Cuttlebert said as he herded Lugg back to his chair. “And besides, prisoners are not allowed on that side of the table.”

Campion removed his glasses, and even Lugg flinched at the severe look in his eyes.

“Striking him was unnecessary,” Campion continued. “And in the future, you will allow me to deal with any breaches of protocol. Is that understood?”

Cuttlebert clearly wanted to protest further, but instead, he meekly nodded and stepped back to his usual place in the room. Then Campion turned back toward Lugg with his usual congenial expression back on his face.

“This mother hen routine of yours might cause us problems,” he said. “You do realize that?”

“That’s right, laugh, but yer still bleedin’,” Lugg scowled, rubbing his forearm. “That crocus who worked on you wasn’t worth a thing.”

“You’re not wrong,” Campion sighed. “It was rather a patch job, but unfortunately, I didn’t have many options at the time. I don’t suppose the prison medic is around?”

“Not until tomorrow,” Cuttlebert chimed in, still unable to look Campion in the eye.

“Out making much more agreeable house calls, I imagine,” Campion said. He gave Lugg a lopsided smile. “I don’t suppose you have another idea.”

* * *

 

It had taken a lot of skillful persuasion, but a short while later, Campion was seated on a stool on Lugg’s side of the table while Lugg stood in front of him, dabbing iodine onto his face.

Lugg worked silently, removing the hastily placed bandages, re-cleaning the wounds and then carefully applying fresh bandages and sticking plaster. He also tended to the cut on Campion’s lip which clearly had received no attention before and tried to soothe the bruises with cold water and towels from the infirmary. Campion remained quiet while Lugg worked, only wincing once in a while.

As he finished, Lugg contemplated how different Campion looked without his glasses or the vacuous expression he favored. Even though he didn’t know anything about Campion’s aristocratic background, Lugg could swear he could see the nobility that was his birthright in his face. There was a quiet dignity and courage that was etched into every feature. It was extremely rare for Lugg to attach any respect to someone due to their station in life, but something about Campion stirred a sense of pride in him.

To Lugg, Campion embodied the finest qualities of the gentleman class, making it even more stunning that Campion willfully chose to not enjoy all the advantages that came with his position.

Once Lugg had finished, Campion stood up and ran a hand over his face.

“That does feel better,” he said, grinning. “You have a talent for this.”

“You pick up things in my line of work,” Lugg shrugged, sitting down.

Campion put his glasses back on and moved back to his side of the table. “I’m grateful for that.” He looked over at Lugg’s tea cup, his face falling. “Oh...I’m sure your cocoa is quite cold by now.”

“And he hasn’t got time for it anyway,” Cuttlebert said with a sneer. “He should have been back in his cell a few minutes ago.”

Campion’s eyes were apologetic behind his spectacles, but Lugg dismissed his concern with a shrug before holding out his wrists to be cuffed.

“You jus’ try and stay out of trouble, cock,” he said, unable to completely hide behind his gruffness anymore. “I don’ want my work wasted the minute you walk out the door.”

Campion rose from his chair with a wide smile. “I’ll put a crumpet by your cup next time. Until then, little Albert shall miss his kindly burglar.”

Lugg made a show of rolling his eyes and headed toward the corridor leading to his cell. It was easy to ignore the harder than necessary jab Cuttlebert gave him as he walked. All he could focus on was the implied promise that Campion would return next week.

Mainly because, Lugg was now certain that he would.

* * *

 

The next couple of months continued the same way. Campion showed up with his tea, Lugg’s cocoa and the usual round of conversation. Once in a while, Campion had to skip a week due to business, but Lugg no longer saw it as a potential brush off. The only concern he had during these absences was for Campion’s safety.

Eventually almost eight months had passed since that first visit Campion made to Parkhurst. He had become a routine oddity among the guards and even some of the prisoners which didn’t stand out to them anymore. Thus, no one bothered to question his presence or the privileges Lugg enjoyed.

Once in a while, one of Lugg’s friends would ask him about this arrangement, but Lugg always brushed their inquiries aside and bluntly changed the subject. The truth was, he didn’t know how to explain this strange and yet genuine friendship that had developed. It simply was a part of his life now the same way the prison routines were. If not more so because while Lugg had his mind set on a future where he stayed out of Parkhurst, he now thought of Campion’s presence in his life as something stable and enduring.

At that time, a particularly bitter winter fell upon England. Living conditions at Partkhurst were never even remotely comfortable, thus the cold from this winter took an even harder toll on the inmates than usual, including Lugg.

Making matters worse, Cuttlebert had not forgotten the slights given to him. He couldn’t take action against someone like Campion with his connections to upper class society and the police. However, he had a much easier target with Lugg, a repeat offender who was subject to the regulations, official or not, of Parkhurst.

Consequently, it was easy for Cuttlebert to arrange to have Lugg moved to a colder, danker cell. To have him work just a bit longer outside when the weather was bad. To make sure he got more of the dregs from the kitchen during mealtimes. Cuttlebert was careful to ensure that he worked within the rules so he couldn’t be held responsible or reprimanded for his actions. Nor could any of this be easily traced back to him.

Lugg endured the mistreatment without complaint. He suspected Cuttlebert was responsible, but was aware that his ability to retaliate was severely limited. Besides, any incident from him could lead to a loss of privileges including being able to have visitors, a risk he was not willing to take.

Instead, Lugg relied on his strong will and robust constitution to get by. He did his best to adjust to the cold, hunger, and bone-deep weariness with the patience and determination of water over stone. He ignored aching muscles and the breathless chill with the same lugubrious approach he took to most of his life anyway.

However, even Lugg’s endurance had its limits, and eventually, he began to break down. It started with a cough, one that came from deep in his lungs. Soon, tiredness followed, sapping his strength and making his hard labor tasks as much of an act of will as it was physical effort.

Unfortunately, this collapse began while Campion had to postpone his usual visit for a week so no one took special note of how sick Lugg was becoming. No one other than his friends among the inmates who had as little of a voice as he did.

By the time Campion had shown up for another visit, the illness had rendered Lugg unable to get out of bed when Cuttlebert showed up to escort him out of his cell. Not from a lack of trying, of course. Lugg spent a full minute struggling to overcome the fever and constant shivers so he could rise to his feet. But every time he sat up, his head swam and another coughing fit would start.

“Not coming then?” Cuttlebert snickered. “Fine. I’ll be sure to let his Lordship know that you’re not interested.”

The guard laughed again as Lugg coughed and put one last effort into getting up. However, all he was able to accomplish was falling to the floor and just barely getting back into bed. Anger smoldered in his dark eyes as he watched Cuttlebert close the door and leave.

Soon, Lugg couldn’t concentrate on his anger or his regret over missing his usual appointment. All of his energy was spent struggling to breathe while his chest ached with congestion. The fever blazed hotter, blurring his vision and his reason until he slipped out of consciousness.

Some time later, Lugg awoke to the sound of voices around him. Curiosity inspired him to open bleary eyes to see if he could figure out who they belonged to. Waves obstructed his vision, but Lugg was almost certain that he was no longer in his cell. He blinked slowly as he tried to decipher what one of the voices was saying.

“…severe case of pneumonia…not sure if he will…I will do what I can….”

Lugg squinted, pushing his foggy mind to focus. He saw a man with a dark suit and silver hair who he did not recognize. That was the one who had been talking. Then he spotted the warden standing next him. There was a nervous expression on his face which made no sense to Lugg at the moment.

Then, he felt a presence beside him and looked over to see a familiar lanky figure with owlish eyes sitting next to him. The eyes were unusually somber, and Lugg wondered why. Suddenly, the figure drew closer and Lugg felt the gentle pressure of a hand on his arm.

“You’ll be all right,” the figure said quietly.

Lugg let his eyes slip shut again, somehow reassured that he would be all right after all.

* * *

 

Time passed in a series of flashes for Lugg after that. There was light and darkness, people coming and going, but none of it felt connected in any way.

Lugg had no idea how long he drifted in and out of consciousness. When he finally regained his senses, he was surprised find that he had several days of beard growth and was no longer in his cell. However, his thoughts were still somewhat fuzzy so it took him almost a full minute to realize that he was in the prison infirmary.

“I see you are awake now. I thought you might be. I suspected that the fever would break last night.”

Lugg glanced over to see the man with the silver hair and dark suit standing in the doorway.

“Ooo are you? Yer not the prison doc.”

“That I’m not,” the man nodded as he walked into the room. “I’m Sir Jasper Pentherose. Or Doctor Pentherose, if you prefer. And I am here at the request of a friend. Now, I would like to examine you.”

The doctor said down next to Lugg and checked his vitals while Lugg silently watched him. His mind was full of questions, but he was unsure of how receptive Pentherose would be to his asking them.

“You’ve pulled through quite well,” Pentherose said when he finished. “I don’t mind telling you, it was touch and go for a couple days there.”

“’Ow long have I been ‘ere?” Lugg asked with a light cough.

“This would be…yes, ten days now,” the doctor answered. “You are fortunate that we were able to begin treatment when we did. Although, I have seen many men who were in the state you were in die before it could work. You must have an iron constitution, Mr. Lugg.”

Lugg sat and stared, bewildered by what had happened. However, the short time he had spent awake and talking had already sapped his small reserve of energy, and he sank back down in his bed.

The doctor gathered his things and stood. “I’m afraid you will have to remain here for at least another week. The worst is over now, but a relapse is still possible. We must be cautious.”

“But ooo sent you?” Lugg asked, his mind still unable truly connect his thoughts together.

Pentherose smiled and pulled something out of his pocket, holding it out to Lugg. Lugg held up his palm and peered at the pair of tiny white flowers that Pentherose placed there.

“ _Silene Latifolia_ ,” Pentherose explained. “Very difficult to find at this time of year outside of a few private flower collections. They are more commonly known as White Campion. And now, I must bid you good day. I shall return in a couple of days.”

Pentherose left while Lugg continued staring at the flowers in his hand, an unexpected wetness stuck in his eyes.

* * *

 

Four days later, Lugg woke up from a light doze to the sound of humming next to him. He opened his eyes with a start when he looked over to see Campion sitting on a chair next to the bed.

“Hullo!” Campion said with a toothy grin. “Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

Lugg scowled at him as he shifted to a sitting position. “Wot are you doin,’ sneakin’ up on people like that?”

“Hardly sneaking,” Campion replied. “Didn’t you hear me humming?”

“Wot are you doin’ ‘ere?” Lugg said, ignoring his question.

Campion looked hurt. “It’s Thursday. Time for little Albert to visit his favorite burglar.”

“Ex-burglar,” Lugg corrected wearily. “I’ve ‘ad my fill of Parkhurst this go ‘round. I’m not comin’ back.”

“Ah, turning over a new leaf,” Campion nodded. “Well that’s the thing to do these days. A Bright New Future Or Your Money Back. Any thoughts about what you’ll turn your leaf to?”

“A few,” Lugg shrugged.

Campion leaned forward in his chair. “You know, there’s a lot of that going around these days. Changing careers, I mean. Even here in Parkhurst. Why, just the other day, I heard about a prison guard who was very dissatisfied with his occupation. Ended up leaving his job and moving to the countryside to work in a mill. Or something like that. I’m afraid I didn’t catch the whole story.”

It didn’t take long for Lugg to piece together what Campion was telling him, and it took every bit of restraint he had to limit himself to a small, satisfied smirk.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to bring cocoa this week,” Campion continued. “I had a beastly enough time just arranging this visit. They are remarkably narrow-minded about having visitors in the infirmary.”

Lugg nodded silently to show that he was listening. Hours spent lying in bed had given him plenty of time to think. All that contemplation eventually led him to two decisions. One of which he decided to act on now.

“Cock…you still want to know why I ‘elped that rozzer on the roof?”

Campion blinked in surprise and nodded eagerly. Lugg sighed and fixed his gaze on the wall across from him.

“I knew it weren’t personal,” he said. “’Im chasing me. ‘E was jus’ doin’ ‘is job. And I’d bin caught fair and square. Sure, I wanted to get away. Parkhurst ain’t a place anyone wants to go to, but….”

Lugg paused and pursed his lips. He glanced over to see Campion listening attentively.

“When I saw ‘im fall over the edge, I thought, ‘e don’ deserve to croak jus’ ‘cause ‘e was doin’ ‘is job. I’d seen ‘im walkin’ ‘is beat and knew ‘e was jus’ an everyday bloke like me. So I ‘elped ‘im. I knew it’d get me in ‘ere, but…I wouldn’t never felt right about it if I’d let ‘im fall. And even now…I’d prolly do the same thing again if I ‘ad to.”

Lugg let out another long sigh once he was finished. He looked at Campion again to see the young man studying him with an intense stare. Inwardly, Lugg squirmed under that gaze until Campion’s face broke into one the happiest smiles he had ever given him.

“Thank you, Lugg,” Campion said with complete sincerity.

Lugg squinted at him. It was clear that Campion believed him this time, but he wasn’t sure why that should make Campion so pleased. A moment later, a guard appeared to escort Campion from the infirmary.

“Good luck with your leaf,” Campion said as he left. “I’ll be sure to read every installment of what you do with it in the trade papers.”

* * *

 

A week and a half later, Lugg was released from the infirmary and returned to the general population of the prison. At the first meal time he was able to attend, Lugg decided to act on the other decision he had made.

He tracked down a friend he had made while he was still working in Bristol. A small time pick pocket named Davy Evans who also had had several long stretches of legitimate work in the past.

“Well Maggers, this is an occasion,” Evans said as they sat down to eat together. “You coming to me for a favor. Though, I suppose I owe you one. Maybe a dozen of them. Anyway, what can I do you for?”

Lugg took a deep breath. He knew that this decision would represent a major change in his life, and he was still unsure about how it would work out. Still, all of these months spent at Parkhurst and the extraordinary turns of fate he had experienced seemed to lead him toward the path he was about to take.

“I know you’ve done this sort of thing and know all about it,” Lugg said. “And I need you to teach me all that you know.” Lugg leaned forward, his face completely earnest.

“I need you to teach me ‘ow to be a gentleman’s gent.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update. I seriously did not mean to neglect this one, but...well, such is the life of a fic writer with a fickle muse.
> 
> I also added a chapter as the last part of this story was getting super long. However, this does mean that it's pretty well finished and that the last chapter will be up next week. 
> 
> Thanks to all my readers for their patience. :)

Evans gaped at him for a full minute before laughing. “You’re having a laugh. You? A gentleman’s gentleman?”

“And why not?” Lugg scowled at him. Evans noted the tone Lugg had used and abruptly stopped laughing.

“It weren’t an insult, Maggers. You know I wouldn’t do that to you. It’s just that, well, I know you. You’ve never bowed your head to any man. Why would you….”

Evans paused and tilted his head to the side. Then he sidled closer to Lugg.

“It’s him, innit it? The fellow who comes and visits you. Sort of an odd one, ain’t he? I caught a glimpse of him when you was sick. Neely was with me. You know Neely. Knowing about the royals and peerage is his hobby. And he told me that that young man’s got a real pedigree. Wouldn’t give me a name, mind you, but from what he told me, your fellow is from one of those old families that mixes with the royals on and off.”

Lugg did his best to look disinterested despite his curiosity in the information Evans was giving him. “So what if it is ‘im?”

“Maggers, I’m only saying this to be kind. You gotta know that,” Evans said, holding out his hands. “But men like that…they get their gents from agencies. Places with a tradition. And those gents are trained for years to be personal man-servants. They don’t get them from our class.”

“I could learn,” Lugg replied. “’Ow ‘ard can it be? Mind the ‘ouse and seeing to meals and such.”

“It’s not just about cleaning up and making a few meals,” Evans insisted. “It’s a whole other way of living. It’s being at the beck and call of your man at all times. It’s taking care of him as tenderly as his own mother would. And with a young man like him, it’d be about considering his own good and his standing even when he’s not aware of it himself.”

Evans took a step back and eyed Lugg appraisingly. “I’m not saying you couldn’t learn. You’ve always learned anything you really wanted to as quick as that. I just don’t know if that’s a life you’d be happy with, Maggers.”

Lugg continued to scowl, but did consider what Evans was saying. He couldn’t deny that Evans had touched on concerns he had had himself over this decision. Still, even with every doubt creeping into his thoughts, Lugg found that his resolve only grew stronger rather than waning.

“Are you goin’ to teach me or aren’t you?” he demanded.

Evans sighed, clearly still reluctant. “He might already have a man, you know. If he really is the sort that Neely seems to think he is. And even if he doesn’t or if he’s thinking about making a change, there’s no promise that he’ll take you on.”

Lugg blinked hard. This was a possibility he hadn’t considered. He suspected that Campion had no permanent domestic given how often Campion talked about dining out or with friends and a mention he had made of a woman who cleaned his place twice a week.

However, there was still plenty of truth to what Evans had told him. Typically, valets for upper class families tended to be almost as cultured as the people they served. Refined with impeccable manners and thoroughly trained in every aspect of their service. Lugg was confident in his ability to learn, but all the learning he could accomplish might not be able to surmount his criminal past or the lack of innate refinement he would inevitably have.

Nevertheless, based on what he knew about Campion, Lugg figured a typical, proper man-servant might not be the best fit for him anyway. Especially if Campion persisted in getting involved with crime and other dangerous activities the way he had been.

Evans could see the decision in Lugg’s face and finally gave in. “All right, Maggers. I’ll teach you. I just pray to God it works out for you.”

* * *

 

Over the next few weeks, Lugg got an education unlike any he had ever undertaken before.

He was only able to talk to Evans sporadically, but whenever they did meet, the conversation was completely absorbed with things like clothes: how to care for them, how to help his master dress appropriately for any occasion and how to make suggestions for adjustments to the wardrobe.

“Mind you, some of this you’ll have to learn on the outside,” Evans had told him at one point. “Fashion’s always changing. And then there’s your young man’s personality to consider. What kind of impression he likes to make and so on.”

He nodded at Lugg thoughtfully. “That’s the most important thing of all, Maggers. You’ll need to get to know your master inside and out. His habits, his funny quirks, things he likes and things that put him in a good mood and things he won’t abide at any time. He’ll be looking to you to make his dwelling his home. That means making sure he always feeling unfussed. A gentleman doesn’t want to feel he has to hide himself in his own home.”

After Evans had taught him all he could about clothes and basic manners, Lugg took up his suggestion to volunteer for additional duties in the prison’s kitchens, helping to prepare food for both the other prisoners and the guards. There, he was able to learn the basics of cooking from inmates who had had experience in clubs and restaurants.

Granted, he didn’t have access to high quality food or exotic ingredients and was only able to learn simple recipes. However, what he did learn, he was confident he could build on the knowledge he had gained once he had an opportunity to widen his culinary instruction.

He also spent time working in the laundry room and added janitorial jobs into his routine. It was tedious, frustrating work, but Lugg soon built up the patience for it and developed a desire to make sure that spaces were tidy and that floors were spotless. He wasn’t always able to act on his budding instincts for order. The guards had no tolerance for that sort of fuss and were far more interested in the work getting done rather than it being of the highest quality.

However, the result of all this work was that Lugg’s standards for domestic spaces rose dramatically. It also made the days pass much more quickly, his mind far too occupied to dwell on the grind of prison life.

For now, he also made the decision to not inform Campion of his activities. When he did finally approach Campion with an offer for his services, Lugg wanted it to be from a position of knowledge so he could prove to Campion that he was not completely ignorant of what his role would be.

* * *

 

A couple of months of this went by with Lugg applying himself diligently toward improving his domestic skills. He had hoped for at least a couple more months of preparation before he said anything to Campion.

Unfortunately, Campion ended up disrupting those plans anyway.

“An opportunity has arisen,” Campion said as the two of them shared their tea and cocoa. “Something you’re sure to be interesting in.”

Lugg raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Wot’s that then?”

Campion sat his mug down. “A parole hearing. For you.”

Lugg let out something between a snort and a chuckle. “Yer ‘aving a laugh. With my record? I’m lucky I only got two more years left.”

“No, I’m completely serious,” Campion said. “Mind you, I’m sure it won’t be easy to convince them of your ex-burglar status and why it makes you a good candidate for early release. But we can but try.”

Lugg gaped at him. All along, he had been prepared to stay in Parkhurst for every last second of his sentence. The possibility that he could get out any sooner hadn’t even occurred to him.

But now that the chance was there, Lugg couldn’t deny the appeal that it held. To be free. To have a chance to start over….

“That leaf you said you were going to turn over,” Campion said, interrupting his chain of thought. “Have you made in progress in that area yet? Because it certainly would help your case if you had honest work lined up so you might not be so easily tempted to fall back on…less than favorable endeavors.”

Lugg finished his cocoa silently so he could have time to collect his thoughts. He didn’t know why he was nervous. Then again, he also hadn’t planned on getting a chance at early parole either.

“I ‘ave. I figgered I’d work for you. As yer gent.”

“For me?” Campion said, blinking hard. “Lugg, I….”

“Look ‘ere,” Lugg said, not wanting him to have a chance to object before speaking his piece. “Someone’s got to look after you wit’ all the trouble you get into. And those fancy agency gents, they’re not goin’ to know ‘ow to ‘andle wot you get yerself into. Me, I’ve known about trouble all me life and can ‘andle that jus fine. And I bin learning about keeping up a ‘ouse and I’ll keep on learning when I get out.”

Lugg paused and leaned closer to Campion. “Meanwhile, I’ll be teaching you ‘ow to ‘andle yerself better so you won’t keep gettin’ in over yer ‘ead. ‘Cos if you don’t, yer goin’ to get yerself killed one of these days. Not that you might not anyway. But at least you’ll ‘ave a sporting chance of it.”

Once he was done, Lugg leaned back in his chair, his coal-black eyes studying Campion to gauge his response.

For a minute, Campion gazed back at him silently, and Lugg wondered if this had been such a good idea after all.

Then another smile appeared on Campion’s face. It was followed by a hearty laugh. Lugg glared at him, but Campion grinned and waved a hand.

“I’m sorry. I am. It’s just…you’ve reminded me again of one of the reasons why I keep coming here. All this time and yet you still can surprise me, Lugg.” He grinned even more and leaned forward.

“You know, I think this might very well be one of the most fascinating leaf turns of all time.”

* * *

 

Life became a blur for Lugg after that visit.

Of course, there was still the usual labor he was expected to do and his continued study of all things domestic. But then, other moments came that foretold of the momentous occasion that was coming up.

First, a solicitor named Hargrove showed up to brief Lugg on what to expect at his parole hearing. Which Lugg found more than a little daft as he, a career criminal with a working brain, knew more than a little about the legal system and what he was up against.

“Mr. Lugg,” Hargrove pleaded with him. “I really do think it’s best that we plan carefully so we can endear ourselves as much as possible to the parole judge so he might perhaps overlook….”

“Lumme, wot are you on about?” Lugg sighed. “That lot won’t overlook nothin’. They’ll know me record and there’s no use denying it. I jus’’ave to convince ‘em I’ve given that all up, see? I’m leaving that life behind me.”

“I mean no offense,” Hargrove said. “But you must understand how difficult it will be to get them to believe in your sudden reform after years of recidivism.”

“You think I don’ know that?” Lugg frowned at him. “And wot makes you think some fancy legal jiggery will get me anywhere wit’ ‘im either? There’s nothin’ to do but jus’ let ‘em know I’ve left that life. Plain as that.”

* * *

 

Far more interesting to Lugg had been the visit he got from a tailor so he could be measured. He remembered that the clothes he had been wearing when he was arrested had become torn and dirty from the scuffles he had gotten involved in during his attempted escape. It made sense that he would be given new ones as it wouldn’t do to leave Parkhurst in a prisoner’s tunic.

Still, he didn’t understand the need for a tailor.  If Campion was going to arrange for him to get new clothes, couldn’t the sizes just be figured out from his old duds? He was sure that similar ones could be found fairly easily. It wasn’t as if they were anything special.

Lugg had never been measured for a fitting before and found the fuss involved vaguely off-putting. Still, he also was aware that this was something he would need to become familiar with if he was going to look after Campion’s clothes. That is, if his plans worked out. So Lugg did his best to take the prodding and fussing with an air of quiet dignity befitting a man embarking on an educational experience.

At the very least, this stance worked well enough to prevent Lugg from acting on his natural instincts to cuff the man whenever he got a little too personal with the measuring tape for his comfort.

* * *

 

Two weeks after Campion had told him about the parole hearing, the fateful day arrived. Lugg was ushered into a room with a large table across from him. Sitting at it were three men, one of whom Lugg recognized as the warden. He assumed that the man at the center was the parole judge with the mousey little man next to him being an assistant of some sort.

Another table was placed at an angle a few feet away from the one the judge was sitting at. Sitting at that one were Hargrove, Campion and a constable who looked vaguely familiar to Lugg although he couldn’t quite place where he had seen that rozzer before.

A chair was placed directly behind where Lugg was standing. Once he sat down, the shackles were removed and the judge began to speak.

“Magersfontein Lugg.” The judge paused as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had just said before continuing. “We’re here to decide if an early release for good behavior would be in the best interests of justice.”

The judge scanned some papers that his assistant shuffled over to him. Then they shared a few whispered words before the judge looked back up.

“To be quite honest, I am amazed that we are even discussing it in the first place. Your record…well, I hardly need to point out the less than suitable effect the law’s punishment has had on your behavior thus far. From the look of it, only the generous recommendations of some honorable gentlemen, fine, upstanding members of society, prompted this review to begin with.”

The judge leaned forward in his chair, languidly gesturing at Lugg with his index finger.

“Perhaps you can explain to us why we should give you this opportunity.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to finish, but here it is, the final chapter. :)

Lugg was ready to scowl at that comment, but did his best to maintain a studiously neutral expression. This wasn’t a good start at all, and he felt his chances at receiving an early parole dwindling. A glance over at Campion, however, managed to renew his determination.

“I know I ‘ave a record. And there’s a lot there. I ain’t sayin’ any of it was right, but I never acted indecent or vulgar. Not once, see? Never threw me fist anyone ‘ooo didn’t get at me first. Never went for a begger ‘ooo couldn’t get by on ‘is own. I ain’t sayin’ I didn’t do wrong, but I still ‘ad me ‘onor. I mean, I never jus did any sort of job to get by.”

“All very interesting, but the fact remains that you did break the law,” the judge replied. “Quite frequently, I might add. What sort of crimes you committed will have little bearing on my decision. Although, I will say that, if you did have a record of violent crime, we would not have even bothered with this hearing.”

“I understand,” Lugg said. “I’m jus’ makin’ it clear that I ‘ave always ‘ad standards. And now…well, I’ve changed. I don’ want nothin’ to do wit’ the low sort of life I ‘ad before. From now on, it’ll be ‘onest, respectable living for me.”

“I see,” the judge said, nodding. “Then, I assume you already have made plans for respectable employment once you leave Parkhurst.”

 Lugg nodded. “I ‘ave.”                                      

“And what are those plans?”

Lugg paused and stole another look at Campion. During the entire time he had prepared for this hearing, Campion still had not given him a definite answer to his proposal to work for him as his valet. And given what was at stake, Lugg did not want to make a declaration he could not back up with one hundred percent certainty.

“I’ve learned a variety of skills,” he said carefully. “They weren’t used as they should ‘ave bin before, but I could be very useful in a ‘ousehold. Minding the grounds, fixing things up. That sort o’ thing.”

“You mean, you could work as a sort of general dogsbody?”

“That’s right,” Lugg nodded. “I’d ‘elp keep things in order.”

“I see,” the judge said again. He leaned toward the man on his right, and the two of them conversed in low tones for a couple of minutes before he addressed Lugg again.

“We have a statement from the warden attesting to your good behavior while imprisoned,” he continued. “It states that you have volunteered for extra duties. Work in the kitchen, laundry and janitorial departments. I assume this is part of your decision to pursue employment in domestic work.”

“That’s right,” Lugg said. “I’m learning about keeping up a ‘ousehold.”

The judge scribbled some more notes. Then he turned his gaze toward the table that Campion was sitting at.

“I understand you have brought witnesses to speak on behalf of Mr. Lugg’s character.”

“Yes my lord,” Hargrove said, rising to his feet. I have here Sergeant Stanislaus Oates who has something to say.”

“Sergeant Oates....”The judge looked down at his notes. “My word, were you not the one who arrested the prisoner in the first place?”

Oates rose to his feet, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm. “I am.”

“And yet you are here to speak on this man’s behalf?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Quite unusual, isn’t it, Sergeant? Unless you are here to tell us that there was a mistake made when arresting this man.”

“No, my lord, no mistake,” Oates replied. “He…the prisoner…was seen exiting the premises in question and when I searched him, he still had some of the baron’s property on his person. There was no mistake in the arrest, my lord.”

“Then why have you come here today if not to recommend against the early release of the prisoner?” the judge inquired.

Oates paused long enough to glance at Campion and Lugg before speaking again.

“I believe it is only right that the circumstances of Mr. Lugg’s arrest be known. I was in pursuit of him on the rooftops of the buildings that surrounded the baron’s rooms along with Mr. Campion. Mr. Campion had been assisting the police with a forgery case at the time and was present when the prisoner was spotted.”

“I understand,” the judge nodded. “Proceed.”

“Right,” Oates said. “As I was saying, I was in pursuit of the prisoner and had almost managed to apprehend him when….”

Oates paused again, a rueful expression appearing on his face. The judge, however, had little patience for Oates’ reluctance.

“Well? Go on then.”

“I was in pursuit when, unbeknownst to me, I happened upon some old wire that had been left on one of the office buildings. I became caught up in it and lost my balance. I nearly fell headlong onto the street, but managed to grab onto the edge of the roof with the barest of handholds. Mr. Campion came to my aid straight away, but the two of us were only just holding on.”

The judge and his assistant listened to this report with interest, as did Lugg who was still stunned that the constable who had nabbed him had actually showed up to tell the judge all this.

“Fortunately for us, Mr. Lugg came over to offer his assistance as well,” Oates added. “He helped Campion into a more secure position and then hauled me back onto the safety of the rooftop, saving my life. I think it’s fair to say that, Mr. Campion and I might not have made it if it wasn’t for Mr. Lugg’s assistance.”

The judge nodded and wrote onto another piece of paper in front of him. For a moment, it looked as if Oates had finished and was about to sit down, but then he spoke again.

“I believe it should be noted that the prisoner would have most likely escaped if he had not chosen to aid Mr. Campion and myself. Thus, while there is no doubt to the veracity of his guilt, he appears to have the moral character to consider the lives of others over his own safety and comfort in a perilous situation.”

“And I believe I can add to that assertion, my lord,” Hargrove said. He held up a sheet of paper. “I have here a statement from the prisoner which was witnessed by Mr. Campion and one of the guards. It states, in Mr. Lugg’s own words, that Mr. Lugg “wouldn’t have felt right” if any harm had come to Sergeant Oates in the course of his apprehension. And, in this same statement, he asserts that he would have acted in the same manner if he faced a similar situation.”

Lugg turned his face to stare at Campion. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the fact that a private conversation between them had been made part of a public record. However, he also noticed that that statement and the statement Oates had given appeared to impress the judge.

Perhaps there was still a chance for this to go favorably after all.

Then suddenly, a thought, an absurdly improbable thought, popped into Lugg’s brain: what if Campion had planned all of this? Could this have been the reason why Campion had pestered him for weeks about his motives for saving that rozzer’s life?

No, it wasn’t possible. Campion could not have foreseen things working out for him just this way. He couldn’t have known how important his reasoning for saving Oates would end up being.

Could he?

“My lord, we believe that Mr. Lugg’s altruistic actions coupled with his good behavior and desire to gain the necessary skills for honest employment strongly indicate that he has learned the error of his past actions and is well on his way to becoming a reformed man,” Hargrove said. “And my lord should know that we also have the assurance of Mr. Campion that Mr. Lugg will have gainful employment upon his release from Parkhurst.“

Hargrove stepped in front of the table he had been seated at while he spoke with Lugg watching his every movement.

“Therefore, in spite of his less than exemplary record, we feel it’s appropriate to give Mr. Lugg the opportunity to become a productive member of society so we might give the cell he currently occupies in Parkhurst to one who has not learned this valuable lesson yet.”

The judge watched him silently as Hargrove returned to his seat. Then he looked down at the notes he had made and added to them. Once again, he leaned over and whispered with the man at his side and then with the warden before going back to his papers.

This continued on for several minutes. Lugg was tempted numerous times to demand that the judge stop messing about and get on with his decision one way or another. Instead, he just managed to resist the urge. He contented himself with a scowl which he hoped conveyed seriousness rather than boredom and menace.

After twenty minutes, the judge looked up and cleared his throat. He motioned with his hand for Lugg to stand up.

“Mr. Lugg, I have thoroughly examined your record and have found it, quite frankly, disgraceful. I believe that you are completely unrepentant for your past actions and do not doubt for one moment that you would have been drawn toward a life of crime even if Providence could undo all the years you spent engaging in nefarious activities.”

Lugg felt a knot in his stomach, but made sure to keep his face rigidly neutral. No matter what happened, there was no way he would ever let this judge see how hopeful and scared he had felt.

“Nevertheless, this review is not about your past. Rather it’s about your future. And in regards to that, there are favorable signs that you do indeed intend to move on from your previous life of recidivism. Also, I have the assurance of Mr. Campion, to whom I have already spoken to privately, that he will bear some of the responsibility for ensuring that you do not slide back into your old habits. Mr. Campion, I trust that you fully appreciate the trust that’s been placed upon you?”

“I do, my lord,” Campion nodded, his tone completely serious and dignified for once.

“Good.” The judge turned his attention back to Lugg. “Make no mistake, Mr. Lugg. I expect you to shoulder the largest share of this responsibility. I am acting on the good faith that you will take hold of the opportunity we are granting you and will remain on the path of decency. But mark my words, Mr. Lugg, if I ever hear of any more criminal activity from you, I shall not hesitate to do everything in my power to make sure that you receive the gravest punishment the law will allow and that you will never again be considered for early release. Is that understood?”

Lugg nodded emphatically, not trusting himself to speak in a tone appropriate to the situation. The judge gave a curt nod of his own in response.

“Right then, it is the judgment of this review board that the prisoner Maggersfontein Lugg shall be released on this day to the custody of his employer, Mr. Albert Campion. It is also decided that this judgment will be brought under review in a year’s time, and if the expectations of parole have been met, Mr. Lugg can consider his debt to society paid in full. And Heaven help both of you if I ever see either of you in front of me again.”

Lugg blinked several times in surprise. It was the result he had hoped for, dreamed about for the last two weeks. And yet, now that it had come, there was an unreality about it that he couldn’t get past. At that moment, he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh, whoop in excitement or just continue to gape in shock.

He eventually settled on heading over to the table where Campion, Oates and Hargrove were standing and talking in animated tones.

“My word, that was a close one, Campion,” Hargrove said. “I don’t know what you said to that old fellow, but it must have been magical.”

“Perhaps you should consider spreading some of that charm to my superintendent,” Oates said gloomily. “I’m still not sure how this is going to look, my testifying on the behalf of a known repeat offender. You do know, Campion, that there was talk of a promotion to detective recently.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Stanislaus,” Campion grinned at him. “You do have the satisfaction of knowing that you repaid the debt of a man who owes his life to another. At least your honor has been upheld.”

Oates gave Lugg a wary look. “Honor is well and good, but I’m not entirely sure that this man has reformed.” Lugg glared at him which produced a nervous blink from Oates.

“Nonsense,” Campion laughed. “Old Lugg here has completely committed himself to the Straight and Narrow from here on out. The acts of his misspent youth shall remain a thing of the past.”

Oates continued to look doubtful at the continued stony stare from Lugg, but Campion was undeterred.

“Besides, I have a feeling your promotion is in the bag, to use the vernacular. Especially after your superiors hear that you have a line on that bank robbery near Camden that has everyone so baffled.”

“You mean…you actually got that blighter to talk?” Oates said, hope appearing in his eyes.

“Not exactly. But he did give himself away anyway. I just need to fix up a couple of minor details tonight, and he should be in your lap by tomorrow. And I am fully expecting you to take me out for a drink when you do get that promotion.”

“You help me nab the Camden Town bank robbers and there will be dinner after that drink,” Oates said. “My wife makes a roast beef that could be a main course in any of the good restaurants in my neighborhood.”

“I shall hold you to that,” Campion said, beaming at him. Then he turned to Lugg, a smile still on his face which had the effect of finally distracting Lugg from Oates.

“Look ‘ere, wot’s all this about yer ‘aving a job?”

“Dear me, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already,” Campion said. “And after all the arrangements I made.”

Lugg was about to say more, but just then, a guard came up behind them.

“Excuse me, but there is some processing to be done. Shouldn’t take more than an hour, sir.”

“Right,” Campion replied. “I shall take care of things on this end, and I will see you later, Lugg. Until then…oh, I almost forgot, I do hope the hat will work out all right. I wasn’t sure about it, you see.”

“The wot?” Lugg said.

A nudge from the guard, however, put a halt to any additional conversation.

* * *

 

Lugg was led back to his cell where a barber was waiting for him to give him a shave which Lugg readily accepted. Then, a brown paper package, loosely tied with string, was placed in front of him.

“Your clothes,” the guard explained. “They’ve already been inspected. Hurry up and change so we can finish the paperwork.”

The guard retreated from the cell, and Lugg sat down on his cot to open up the package. What he found shocked him to the core.

Inside was a tailored, waist-length jacket with a matching black vest. There was also a crisp, high collar shirt, a black tie, and black trousers with a white pinstripe. Completing the ensemble was a pair of black leather boots and a black bowler hat.

Lugg looked over each piece more than once. He’d never owned a suit like this before, one that was made for him and of such good quality. Lugg knew that it had to be from Campion and he spent another minute wondering how he was going to repay this latest gesture of generosity.

Lugg took his time dressing, studiously making sure that every tip he had received from Evans about how to handle such fine clothes was followed. He wished he had a mirror. Partially to make sure everything looked all right and partially just to see if he looked as different as he felt.

* * *

 

A little over a half an hour later, he met Campion outside Parkhurst, another paper bundle under his arm.

“Oh dear,” Campion said with a slight frown. “I was wrong about the hat after all.”

“Wot do you mean wrong?” Lugg frowned. “I think it’s very smart.”

“Yes well, you’ve also spent the last year in a prison tunic. Hardly beneficial for building a man’s sartorial taste.”

“I kept it,” Lugg said, patting the package under his arm. “Sort of a souvenir.”

“Yes, but please refrain from wearing that when company comes. First impressions and all that.”

Lugg decided to be magnanimous and ignore these sarky remarks on his taste in clothes and keepsakes. “Cock…about these ‘ere clothes….”

“A necessary expense,” Camion said, clearly anticipating his remark. “We’ll say no more about it. After all, if you are going to be my personal factotum, I can’t afford to have you milling about while looking like the ex-criminal that you actually are.”

“You mean….?”

“It’s what we agreed to, isn’t it?” Campion said, his eyes wide and expectant. “I did hope that you were serious. The fact is, I’ve been meaning to take on some help for a while now. But I’m afraid more than one applicant has been put off by my…how shall we say…unique prerequisites for the job.”

“Unique,” Lugg scoffed. “More like they realized wot yer business was and was scared off. Not to worry, ‘Bert. You’ll not put me orf so easily. A lil’ trouble don’ make no odds to me.”

“Don’t call me Bert. And I’m glad you said that because I may need you to accompany me tonight to Camden Town to clear up that spot of trouble you heard me mention to Oates.”

“Right…though, I take it there’s nothin’…illegal about this?”

“A bit questionable, perhaps. But nothing outside the law, no.”

“That’s all right then,” Lugg nodded. “Wouldn’t look too good my gettin’ into that sort of trouble the day I got out.”

 “But we will need to stop by my flat at some point before we head out. It’s on Bottle Street, just off Piccadilly.”

“Bottle Street,” Lugg repeated to himself. He brought up a picture of the area in his mind and soon, a revelation came to him. “’Ere now, that’s right next to the police station.”

“Actually, it’s right above it,” Campion corrected. “An ideal location for someone in my sort of profession. Couldn’t believe the luck I had in acquiring it. I’m sure it will provide you with all the inspiration you’ll ever need to remain true to your promise to pursue honest work from this moment on. Now, how about a beer? I know a good pub that is just right for this occasion. You’ll like it, I’m sure.”

Lugg rolled his eyes, but simply nodded and walked alongside the young man who continued to chatter away.

As he walked, it occurred to Lugg that he had probably just signed up for a life that could be every bit as chaotic as his criminal one had been. If not more so. Not to mention how radically different it would be from what he had been used to. However, as he listened to Campion go on, he felt all of his concerns drift away.

Maggersfontein Lugg wasn’t tired any more. He was ready. Ready for the next chapter of his life.


End file.
